Eighteen
by notnicorette
Summary: Ficlet of a scene I could see happening in Season 4. Clarke goes to Bellamy for comfort, but what if they're not ready?


_Knock, knock._

"Come in," Bellamy called from where he was sitting on the edge of his bed.

Clarke slipped inside, closing the door behind her. "Can I…?" she asked, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the space beside him.

"Yeah, sure."

She walked over to join him, sitting down, leaning forward, and putting her head in her hands.

"What is it?" he asked, worried that something else had gone wrong in the ten minutes that had passed since he'd last seen her. She looked more defeated than he'd seen her in a long time, and that was saying something, given everything they'd been through.

"I'm tired, Bellamy."

"Get some sleep. You'll feel better in the morning."

She just shook her head.

"Yes, you will. Come on, just lean over," he said, getting up. "You can sleep here. I'll go bunk with Jasper."

"Sleep isn't going to fix this kind of tired, Bellamy."

He sighed, sitting back down. "Talk to me, Clarke."

"I just…I'm just _tired_. I'm tired of… _existing_ like this."

He frowned. "Like what?"

"I'm eighteen years old, Bellamy. _Eighteen_. Do you remember how we used to learn about what life on Earth was like back before the wars? Eighteen would have meant heading off to college. It would have meant frat parties and beer pong and… _football games_ , for float's sake. It would have meant flirting with people in your biology class and taking road trips and your biggest act of rebellion would have been…I don't know…dying your hair a stupid color because you wanted to prove you were an adult and could do whatever the hell you wanted."

Bellamy's mouth twitched with that reminder, although it was mostly without humor.

"But now…I'm eighteen…and I just… You know, if I just keep myself in the moment, I can usually deal with whatever fate has decided to throw at us. But when I actually stop and think about what my life has become…the things I've seen…the things I've _done_ , Bellamy…" Clarke trailed off, her face fairly stoic as she stared straight ahead, although a tear or two slipped unbidden down her cheek.

"Clarke…" he began, laying a hand on her arm and trying to keep his voice as soothing as possible.

"You know all of my sins, Bellamy. My Dad, the missile, Mount Weather…those are all things I'll never be able to forgive myself for. But when I remember that I'm only eighteen…when I remember what life should have been like for a normal eighteen year old… Do you know how many people have died in my arms?" She finally turned to look at him, and the anguish in her eyes made his stomach clench.

His breath caught in his throat, because not only did he hate seeing her like this, he could also relate. He shook his head.

"I think I've lost count. That's how many there are…I can't remember anymore. But there are two I'll never forget," she muttered, her voice breaking on the last sentence.

Bellamy placed a hand on her back, trying to comfort her.

"I know…neither relationship was perfect…hell, neither relationship should have even happened in the first place…but in this…place…this _damn_ place…when you find someone to make you forget it all for even just a little while…when you find someone that doesn't make you feel so _alone_ …"

A picture of Gina flashed into Bellamy's mind and, with it, a mixture of sadness and guilt. "I know."

"They both died _in my arms_. I'm not sure how to even…process that…how to get over that," she said, as more tears fell.

Bellamy forced down his jealousy, because no matter how much he didn't want to hear about her past lovers, his need to protect and comfort her always trumped everything else. "I don't think that's something you can get over, Clarke. It's just something you'll learn to live with…like everything else we've learned to live with since we got here."

She laughed humorlessly. "I'm not doing so well with the whole 'learning to live with it' thing, can you tell? Of course, it might be a little easier if we weren't literally facing the nuclear apocalypse. How much more of this are we going to have to take, Bellamy?" Her volume was increasing with each sentence and her eyes were going a little wild the further she went. "It's not enough that there's death and destruction all around us. It's not enough that we've seen people we care about die in front of us. It's not enough that a freaking AI brainwashed all our friends. No, now we have to figure out how to _actually, literally_ save the world. And instead of crying, or screaming, or admitting that I'm _terrified_ , I have to act like some goddamn _savior_ , because that's what everyone expects of me. Because if Clarke doesn't know what to do, everything falls apart. But what if I'm just as clueless and terrified as everyone else?!" she finished, sobbing in earnest now, although her voice was laced with anger.

Bellamy took her by the arms, pulling her toward him.

She fell into his body, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist, while his rested on her upper back, tangling in her hair.

"Clarke…I don't know. I don't know how much more we're going to have to take. I don't know how we're supposed to handle it, either…except that we are. We're survivors. We were never supposed to make it to the ground…but we did. We were never supposed to survive our first fight with the Grounders, or our fight with Mount Weather, or being taken over by an AI…but we did all of that. We beat the odds, Clarke. That's who we are. And sometimes we have to do things that don't rest easy on our conscience to beat those odds…and sometimes we make mistakes…but maybe that's why we fight so hard to survive. Maybe we're trying to stay alive long enough to do some good…to atone for the sins we've already committed."

Clarke didn't respond, but she seemed to have quieted somewhat.

"And, Clarke…I know how it feels to be that person everyone looks up to…the person they trust to guide them. And trust me when I say that I know how hard it is to pretend like you always have it together for their sakes, when that couldn't be further from the truth. But, Clarke…here…with me…you don't have to pretend, okay? You don't have to shoulder the responsibility alone…you never have. So, if you have to play a part out there…to let them have hope…then that's fine. You play the part out there. But then, in here, you talk to me, you cry on my shoulder…hell, scream at me if you want. Just let me be there for you, while you're there for everyone else."

Slowly, he felt Clarke's head nod against his chest.

"And…I know it's not quite on the level of football games and frat parties…but if it's any consolation…you actually did do the whole 'dying your hair a stupid color' thing," he joked, trying to make her laugh, which seemed to work.

They stayed like that, hugging sort of awkwardly while sitting on the side of the bed, for a few more minutes, until Clarke seemed to be able to take deep breaths again.

"Feeling better?" Bellamy asked softly.

He again felt her head nod against his chest, but then she moved up, pressing her lips against his neck.

He froze, shocked into immobility as she started kissing a path up his neck, scooting closer and starting to swing her leg over his lap.

Grabbing her arms, he stopped her progress. "Clarke…" he practically croaked.

"What?" she asked, now face to face with him.

His eyes searched hers, desperate for what he longed to see there.

Although he saw a glimmer of it, it was overshadowed by pain…by loss and hurt and fear and about twelve other emotions he couldn't even begin to name.

"Clarke…don't. You don't want this."

Her hands gripped tighter to his shoulders. "Yes, I do," she said, and damn if she didn't sound sincere.

His eyes closed of their own volition as he forced himself to remember that although this was what he'd wanted for as long as he could remember…this wasn't how he wanted it, for either of them.

Opening his eyes, he responded, "I don't."

With his pronouncement, her eyes widened in horror. She backed away from him, standing up and practically sprinting for the door.

Realizing she'd taken his words as a flat rejection, which couldn't be further from the truth, he cursed under his breath, jumping up and reaching for her arm just as she was about to dash through the door she'd just opened.

"Clarke, wait."

"Bell, let me go. I'm sorry…I didn't…" Her words came out in an embarrassed rush as she tugged against his grip.

He kept a gentle but firm grip on her arm until she finally turned back to look at him, her face a canvas full of even more emotions now than before.

His eyes found hers, catching and holding them to make sure she understood his next words. "Don't use me to forget."

Their eyes remained locked, as if searching for something or trying to communicate on their own.

Finally, she nodded, her expression more at peace than it had been since she'd first entered his room.

Reluctantly, he let go of her arm, watching her turn and walk slowly out of his room.


End file.
